


Imagine: Castiel’s serious-minded idea of post-sex pillow talk.

by webcricket



Series: Castiel Imagines [41]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 15:48:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15822039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket





	Imagine: Castiel’s serious-minded idea of post-sex pillow talk.

As the carnally spent seraph slips from and slides off of your sensually-subdued form, lounging to one side with the support of an elbow, he swipes the sweat damp hair from your forehead and presses a kiss to the plump pinkness of your trembling lips.

Softly smiling, calloused fingertips trace the flushed contours from your temple, to blushing cheek, to quivering throat, to salt-laced clavicle. Dipping the tingling touch between the breathless swell of your breast, he admires the glow of your skin as he draws invisible devotions of affection – celestially composed sonnets in that ancient language of love, a language neither written nor spoken but _lived_ , proclaiming the divinity of your soul – over your ribs and belly.

He waits for the quickness of your shallow breath to slow before blessing, each in turn, your blissfully shuttered eyes with a bare brush of kiss-bruised pout across the lashes. Tender warmth diffuses over the sanctified lids as radiant as summer sunshine shining pure and unadulterated with nary a wisp of cloud in an endless sea of blue.

A deep sigh of contentment wells from within your chest to thrill the air between you with its hum.

Satisfied your physical wants are thoroughly placated at present, the angel rolls heavily onto his back allowing his vessel to sprawl languidly beside you. 

Unwilling in your lustful languor to lose an inch of proximity, you snuggle up sidelong as he stretches out. Pleasantly lightheaded, limbs still smoldering with thin tendrils of fading euphoric fire, you luxuriate in the lingering burn of lovemaking. Arm flung limply across his torso, leg tossed and tucked between his muscular thighs, you cocoon him in the heat of your sated body.

Taking up your hand where it gently grazes his torso and smoothing his fingers up and down the sensitive flesh of the inner wrist to sooth you to slumber, he assents with a grateful groan to cushion you nearer.

On the brink of sleep, a simple prayerful thought arises in the coziness of his embrace: _‘My angel, my_ heart _, let’s stay like this forever.’_

Innocent musing prayer caressing his celestially heightened perception, he stiffens; and it’s not the agreeable third romping round sort of stiffness that is wont to reignite restless passion in your veins. Rather, his vessel congeals in a rigid mass of uncertainty.

Suddenly wakeful, you half sit up to stare askance into the ponderous depths of blue quizzically squinting back at you from beneath a twisted knot of brow.

“Y/N.” His voice plummets into the reverberant realm of chiding low gruffness of tone he reserves for the more profoundly ridiculous human notions of undying romance.

“What?” you ask, biting the cherry blossom of your lower lip in a feint show of solemnity. You know the tenor of voice he takes when he’s being overly literal and this is _it_.

He presses his thumb into your palm. “Your prayer … what you’re suggesting, it seems-” He searches your expression gravely before choosing words. “-very _impractical_.”

“Oh?” Squeezing his hand in return, you raze the blanched petal of your lip between teeth and avert your gaze thoughtfully – teasingly – upward. “I think it sounds quite nice … cuddling here with you for eternity.”

“Nice, yes, for a time, but-”

“But _what_?”

The gleaming blue of his eyes assumes the earnest essence of a pleading puppy. “Well, for one thing, you need to eat.”

“Hmm,” you murmur the altogether unimpressed sound.

“I suppose Sam or Dean could bring you food,” he concedes, “but there’s the bodily functions endemic to the human condition to consider.” He frowns at the recollection of his own time in that physiologically beleaguered mortal state of being. “Urination, defe-”

“Don’t!” You drop a finger deftly to his mouth to shush him before he enters unpleasantly explicit territory. You sigh, inwardly amused with the Fates for having arranged your hopeless fall into love with the most literal minded angel in the whole host of Heaven.

“Think of the muscle atrophy caused by immobility,” he mutters around your finger, genuinely concerned for your well-being.

A grin darkens the laugh lines darting your cheeks. “I expect there would be no lack of regular exercise.” Crawling into his lap, you promptly replace your finger with your lips to douse any further doubts.

Mouth yielding to melt against yours, relaxation wends through the tensely taut expanse of his entire vessel.

Or rather, _almost_ all of it.


End file.
